


Someone Has To

by Avera_Illisa



Category: Sanders Sides, Thomas Sanders
Genre: Actually really sappy, Fluff, Hurt and comfort, I'm Sorry, M/M, Sad Patton, kinda sappy, logicality - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-01
Updated: 2017-12-01
Packaged: 2019-02-09 04:02:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12879768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Avera_Illisa/pseuds/Avera_Illisa
Summary: "I know you want what's best for us; like I want what's best for Thomas, all the time. But just as I must accept that not all days have to be productive, so should you accept that not all days must be happy ones." He leaned forward. "Sometimes you just need to...take a break."Or Patton exhausts himself just as much as Logan does, sometimes, and necessary words are exchanged between toast and midnight.





	Someone Has To

**Author's Note:**

> I love Logicality with all my sanders-sides-loving heart, so I'm pretty mad at myself that its taken me this long to write something for the ship and the fandom. Its my first sanders sides fic so I hope its ok and that u guys enjoy it!! :)))

"Logan?" 

"Hmmm?" Logan hummed, not looking up from the assortment of papers that crowded his usually pristine tabletop in a flutter of white bodies and scrawled words. Had his work been even a tad less pressing, he might have offered a slightly more courteous greeting - a verbatim response, perhaps; or maybe a spared look. But doing so would mean a lapse - however momentary - from his work and, anyway, it was a rather superfluous venture. He didn't need visual clarification to identify the voice. Only one person would dare intrude when they knew he was in the midst of a task; know they were the only one he'd permit do so with minimal complaint. Only one person spoke like that - with a tenderness, a worry that caressed the syllables on his tongue.

And only one person was obstinate enough to persist when they should've known a hummed response from him was indicative that he did not wish to be disturbed.

"Logan," it echoed, more insistently. He could almost feel the frown being thrown his way - directed at his bowed back, etching a brand between his shoulder blades. He did not turn. 

"Logan, please," the voice sighed; a weary exhale. "Stop writing and look at me, please?" 

"I'm busy, Patton." 

"It's almost three in the morning, Lo; you've been at this for hours, and you missed dinner. Can't whatever you're working on wait until morning?" 

That gave Logan pause. "Three?" 

"Mm-hmm." 

"Oh," he responded simply. He hadn't realized the hour had gotten so late. Perhaps that was the reason why his eyes ached and his movements tremulous; his usual looping script rendered nearly incomprehensible from fatigue. He mused his options for a moment, then resumed his erratic scrawl. "I suppose I should head to bed once I'm done with this last thing-"

_"Logan."_ This time, the voice was steeped in warning; a firmness that brooked no argument. Or, at least, Logan hadn't been _inclined_ to argue had it not been followed by a hand forcibly wrenching the paper from beneath his pen, dragging a jagged line of ink down the parchment. Logan's head shot up in effrontery, stiff fingers still frozen mid-word. 

"Patton!" He shouted, shooting to his feet to grab at the purloined sheet, "I was working on that!!" 

"No; you're not," he chided, pulling the paper away from Logan's flailing fingers. His brow was pinched, lips down-turned in clear displeasure - but there was worry writ in those lines, too. Virgil had dubbed it Patton's 'dad face' the last time they'd done something to invoke said trait's fatherly instincts. "You're exhausted, Lo; whatever this is about, it can wait until morning. After you've slept some." 

"You don't understand-" Logan made another half-hearted lunge. 

"Logan." Patton laid a hand on his chest; gentle, but firm. One look at the determined set to his jaw had Logan conceding he wouldn't be the one to win this fight. _"No."_

Logan let out a frustrated huff, then turned to begin stuffing errant, flyaway papers into appropriately-labeled files. "Fine." 

Patton sagged in relief, allowing Logan to snatch back the half-done sheet, organize the papers into a tidy sheaf, and cram it into its designated folder. He was loathe to admit it, especially to Patton, but the exhaustion that had accumulated over the hours of his hunched-back, feverish productive frenzy were beginning to make themselves apparent. His limbs felt leaden, spine stiff from maintaining his bowed posture, and it felt vaguely like someone had taken a jackhammer to his head. Huh. Perhaps he should have heeded Patton's advice a little sooner. Thomas's erratic sleeping patterns seemed to be bleeding into his own, and that likely would behoove no one. 

He gathered the last dregs of his documents and files, sliding them into their appropriate places on his desk. He could still feel Patton hovering by the doorway, his worry evident. It was likely he could detect tells of fatigue that were invisible even to him. 

"Will you be okay, Logan? Do you need any help getting to bed?" 

Logan waved off his concerns with a dismissive flap of the hand. "Don't be ridiculous, Patton; I'll be fi-"

And that was the time the consequences of his skipped dinner decided apt to make itself apparent. In a loud, very blatant groan of complaint. 

Logan paused, blinked - and flushed. 

Patton sighed, but he was grinning. "I told you not to skip dinner, Lo." 

"There was more...pressing matters at the time that demanded my attention," Logan offered, fixing his glasses. His cheeks were still warm and heavy with color.

Patton smiled, shaking his head. He offered the other a hand. "C'mon; I'll fix you up a quick supper." 

"It's fine, Pat; I'll make something for myself-"

"Toast," Patton interjected, with a knowing lift in his brow, "with Crofters." 

Logan's argument died on his tongue. His resistance wavered, thinned - then dropped. 

"Fine." 

Patton beamed, his cheeks rosy and eyes alight with pleasure. If asked, Logan would vehemently deny the curious flutter it invoked in his gut; a strange curl of delight. He grabbed Logan's hand - the warmth of which most certainly did not send a jolting sensation through his arm - and pulled him out the door towards the kitchen. 

*

A moment later found Logan seated by the kitchen island, arms propped over the cool counter-top, absently watching Patton pop two slices of bread into the toaster with an eager hum. Logan had been delegated to retrieving the jam from the cabinet; a chore later demoted to simply sitting and waiting by the table after he'd popped open the lid and nearly emptied the Crofter's jar before Patton had wrestled it away from him. Had he been less tired, he'd perhaps have put up more of a fight; especially since it concerned an empty stomach and a not-so-empty jar of Crofters. Now he could only watch with subtle recrimination as the bread toasted and Patton kept the jam safely sequestered under his palm.

Patton glanced over and laughed at the other's pinched expression. "Relax, Lo! The bread will be done soon." 

"There's no need for that; the jar of Crofters should be enough to sustain me until tomorrow morning," he retorted, eyeing the said jam. 

Patton smiled indulgently. "I think you need a little more than just jam in you, Logan." 

Logan scowled, but wasn't exactly in the mood to argue dietary semantics with the paternal side right now. Especially since he had an inkling that Patton was most probably right. 

They waited a few more minutes in companionable silence until the toaster finally dinged as signal of completion. Patton leapt up with a grin.

"Toast is done!!" He sang vibrantly, tentatively pulling the warm slices from the slots in the machine. 

"You don't have to announce it, Patton; I heard." 

"Yeah, I know, Lo," he smiled, plucking a butter knife from the utensil-drawer and dunking it into the jar. He turned to him and winked. "Just wanted to make sure you know your toast is-"

Logan knew before it was even said. "Pat, don't you dare-"

"-'bready'!" 

He groaned, though his exasperation was thankfully short-lived. It lasted for about as long as Patton took to lather the slices in jam and set them before him, steaming and golden, sliced in perfect triangles. "Here you go, Lo!" 

Logan didn't need to be goaded twice. He plucked a sandwich from the plate and bit into it, enjoying the explosive flavor of the jam on his tongue.

It was only after he'd eaten through half of it did he realize that Patton was looking at him, wearing a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes and sagged with a weight he could not name. He blinked. "Patton?" 

"Hmm?" 

"Is something wrong?" 

At the question, Patton seemed to notice himself; schooling his expression into one less maudlin. "No, no! Nothing's wrong, Logan! It's just-" His shoulders drooped a tad. "You need to take better care of yourself, Lo." 

Logan felt a twinge of guilt torque inside his chest. "Oh. Well, I'm sorry if I worried you, Patton; but sometimes its necessary-"

"No," Patton interjected vehemently. He reached across the table to take his hand, folding it into his. Logan felt that jolt again; that swooping sensation in his gut, a curious want that seized him. But it was mitigated to a degree by Patton's drooping expression. "Staying up all night, skipping meals...all that is never necessary, Lo. No matter how important the task." 

"But-"

"No buts," he chided, squeezing his hand. There is was again - that peculiar flutter. "Nothing should be more important than you, Lo." 

Logan was silent. 

"I'm not saying you shouldn't give it your best," Patton continued, eyes glimmering. Under the sheen of tears, they almost seemed to sparkle - luminous, like some gem. He kept Logan's hand sandwiched between his own, his palms bleeding warmth and security into his stiff fingers. "I'm just saying you shouldn't give it your everything. You worry me a lot when you do this, Lo. It's like..." he gave another squeeze, "...it's like you don't think it's your best until you expend everything you have." 

"If it's what's best for Thomas-"

"You're already what's best for Thomas," Patton explained. "You don't have to stay awake all night and miss meals to concoct all these plans and schedules; into perfecting video ideas. That's overkill. Just you, Lo...being just you, that's already more than enough." 

Patton leaned forward, his eyes earnest. It was nearly impossible to look away. "Can you promise me, Logan? That even if you can't stop all these all-nighters right away...you'll at least try?" 

Logan looked at him - his expression open and honest, eyes steeped in hope, and wondered if he could ever deny him anything. It felt almost blasphemous to even attempt it. "Alright," he finally agreed, nodding, "I promise." 

Patton beamed, and it was like the sun breaking over twin peaks of a mountain range. He leapt up and pulled Logan into his arms. Pressed as he was against the other side's chest, he felt a peculiar warmth frisson inside of him; the steady beat of the moral trait's heart beating in tandem with the flutter of his own. He felt his cheeks heat at the contact, grateful that, smushed as his face was against Patton's collar, the other could not see the color that had infused his pale skin. "Thanks, Lo," he murmured, and Logan could practically hear the relief in it. 

They stood, locked in an embrace, for a few moments more before Patton finally relinquished his hold, and it felt as though all the warmth had been pulled away with him. He beamed at Logan with a fondness that made his insides churn, and gave his palm one last tentative squeeze before withdrawing back to his seat. There was a curious slowness in that movement; something that, had Logan dared himself to hope, might even have painted as reluctance. 

He returned back to his seat opposite him and they lapsed back into silence. Logan mused over their conversation; the words they exchanged, the confirmation Patton gave that he was enough. He felt a knot of tension in his chest ease; like a rope untangling. Deep down, he really had been harboring a fear that he wasn't enough - that though he was responsible for many of Thomas's mental faculties, his role as logic was a replaceable one. Wasn't that why he had thrown himself to utterly into his work, as means of compensation? Why he rejected all hobbies and activities that might compromise his cold and logical persona? He chewed thoughtfully on his bread, musing. All-in-all, he was glad to have Patton - here to pull him out when he sank too deep, here to assuage worries and insecurities he himself wasn't aware he had. He felt a fondness bloom in chest; so warm and acute it may be his undoing. 

He glanced back at his midnight companion, who was absently toying with the sleeves of the cat hoodie he'd gifted. He noted the tousled hair, heavy eyes, an unfamiliar set to his jaw. There was something there, writ into his expression. Something almost forlorn. Had he been even a tad less observant, he might've missed it. Had Patton been aware of his scrutiny, he may have put more effort into hiding it. It was subtle, yes - Patton was an expert at schooling his expression and concealing any internal turmoil - but...it was there. He could see it; in his eyes, the sag of his shoulders, the way his eyes dimmed in a way that he would never allow had he been at his best. Patton looked...tired. Exhausted, even. Maybe even moreso than he was.

He frowned. "Patton?" 

"Hmm?" 

"Are you...okay?" 

Patton startled, then seemed to collect himself once more. His smile was brighter, but his eyes gave it away - they sagged with that strange weight again, an emotion Logan could not name. "What do you mean, Lo? I'm fine! Maybe a little tired-"

"Patton." Now it was Logan's turn to interject, his tone gentle but firm. "We already talked about you hiding your emotions in the last video." 

Patton's smile faltered, and with it his entire sunny facade seemed to collapse. The exhaustion was back, but this time more apparent. How long had he been schooling his features, tucking that fatigue away? "I know, Lo; it's just..." he sighed. "...it's difficult to stop hiding, sometimes." 

Logan glanced down at the other's hands; the way his fingers gripped the counter-top, pushing white stars into his knuckles. Then, ignoring every screaming warning in his head that normally shied away from initiating physical contact, he reached over and pulled Patton's hand into his own, twining their fingers together. Patton startled a bit at this, pinked, and smiled at him; curling his fingers a little tighter around his. 

"Did something happen today, Patton?" 

Patton laughed, but it sounded off. "That's just it, Lo," he sighed. "Nothing happened. It was just another day, like any other. I made meals, listened and clapped when Roman insisted I hear about one of his new video ideas - it was a pretty good idea, Lo; I can't wait for him to share it with all of you - and..oh, Virgil had a little bit of an attack this afternoon, so I had to help him a bit with that, but it was nothing I couldn't handle. Made dinner, as usual, and then stayed up to check on you when I realized you skipped it. Just..." He waved a hand uselessly. "...the normal stuff, and yet...I don't know. I feel really tired, Logan; moreso than usual." 

Logan was quiet; musing. Then: "You stayed up for me?" 

"Mmm-hmm." 

"You made us all meals."

"..yes?" 

"Helped Virgil with an attack." 

"Yeah, but it was a small one, at least. I think he's getting better, Lo-"

"And listened to Roman's ideas, even though he tends to ramble for hours?" 

"It's really not that bad, Logan; he gets a bit zealous and I don't mind that! He really has great ideas-"

"Patton," he interjected quietly, shutting the other up. "Didn't you stay up last night too, to comfort Virgil because he had a nightmare?" 

"Oh," Patton smiled, but it was weighed down by exhaustion. "Yeah, I guess I did." 

"And you stayed up the previous night as well, because Roman returned late from a quest and you wanted to be sure he at least had supper." 

Patton's face was clouded with confusion. "Yes? Logan, what's all this about?" 

"Patton," Logan explained gently, "you have not had a proper night of sleep in at least three days, and have spent most of said days taking care of others, including me." He squeezed his hand within his own. "When was the last time you had a proper night of sleep, or had some time for yourself to rest?" 

That was when the realization dawned, and Patton looked as though someone had physically struck him. He swallowed, mused, but could not seem to produce an answer. "I..." 

"Patton," Logan offered firmly, "you're running yourself to the ground." 

At the revelation Patton seemed to fold in on himself, posture tightening as though guided by some mysterious inner crank - than abruptly loosened. His shoulders dropped and his entire frame seemed to sag, deflating like a released balloon. The cheer was gone from his expression; all that happy pretense, and something less sunny had risen to take its place. His eyes were varnished with a lacquer of tears. 

"I..." he tried, swallowing, "...I just want everyone to be happy." 

"At the cost of yourself?" Logan leaned forward. His voice wasn't stern or accusatory; simply mild, patient. But Patton seemed to receive them with the grace of a gunshot. He supposed it was one thing to be on the giving end of advice, and something altogether when receiving it. "You were the one who told me not to push myself so far, Pat; that I was enough, doing what I was doing without necessary sacrifice. Why can't it be the same for you?" 

Patton sniffled, then reached up to scrub at his eyes. They were rimmed in red and heavy with exhaustion. Logan had never seen the other look so utterly spent. "I don't...I don't know, Logan," he said quietly, "I just love you all so much. I want to be there for all of you, all the time." 

"No one person can manage so much, Pat."

"But someone has to." 

Logan gave Patton's hand what he hoped was a reassuring squeeze, gratified when his fingers curled tighter around his; almost of their own accord. He shuffled closer. "I know you want what's best for us; like I want what's best for Thomas, all the time. But just as I must accept that not all days have to be productive, so should you accept that not all days must be happy ones. Sometimes you just need to...take a break." 

Patton nodded, eyes downcast. "I know, Lo," he said, "I just...I just wish I could always be there, always be my best. You all deserve that."

"But if the cost of that is exhausting yourself, pushing yourself to be happy, then we don't want it, Patton; we already established that in the last video, and you know Virgil and Roman would agree with me," he leaned forward, hoping his voice would relay the earnesty in his words. "We all love you just the way you are, good days and bad." 

Patton's eyes widened. His lip wobbled dangerously, features pinched - and abruptly burst into tears. The transition was like a dam breaking, and just as explosive in its intensity. He smothered his face in his hands, shoulders heaving with stuttering breaths, releasing all the pent-up emotion and bone-deep exhaustion he never allowed himself to show. Logan hovered by his side, entire frame radiating uncertainty, before Patton turned and flung his arms around him. Instead of tensing like he usually did, he allowed himself to melt into it, return it. Patton needed comfort right now, and indulging in intimacy once in awhile couldn't be too horrible, he supposed. 

"I love you so much," Patton slurred into his ear, words clogged with tears. "I just love all of you so much." 

"I know, Patton." He squeezed him tighter. "We know." 

*

Logan chewed the remnants of his toast and dusted off his fingers, seeing the crumbs scatter and chase each other across the plate. Patton leaned heavily into his side, head propped against his shoulder, utterly spent of tears and sagging with exhaustion. Logan glanced at him - took in the hum of each breath, the spill of his hair, the slim shadows of lashes that fanned across his cheeks - and briefly debated just leaving him so warm and heavy and perfect against him for the rest of the night. He immediately shook the thought away. These curious sensations and unreasonable thoughts he'd been experiencing could wait another night to unravel. Right now, the best course of action was to head to bed - not only for Patton's sake, but for his own. He could feel his suppressed fatigue beating a jackhammer's weight into his skull.

He gave the sleeping body pressed against him a shake. "Patton?"

"Hmm?" came the responding, drowsy hum.

"We need to head to bed now, and I can't carry you." 

"Hmmm...mmkay," he mumbled sleepily, then pushed off him and abruptly tipped precariously to the side. 

"Oh for-" he shook his head, but there was fondness in his exasperation. He seized Patton by the shoulders and gingerly pulled him off the chair. "Come here, Patton." 

As they stumbled down the corridor towards their respective rooms, Patton seemed to come back to himself; shedding his fatigue for a tinge of clarity. The exhaustion was still there, clouding his faculties - but as he turned towards Logan to bid goodnight there was a glimmer of something else in his eyes. The air itself seemed heavy with it - cackling again with that strange weight. 

Logan shifted, then smiled the uneasiness away. "Goodnight, Patton." 

Patton beamed at him. "Goodnight, Logan." 

And then he surged forward, his arms twining around his neck. Logan briefly thought it was another hug before he felt it - the press of warm, soft lips against the corner of his mouth, the barest but definitive suggestion of a kiss, a promise of something more. He felt something short-circuit in his brain; every neuron collapsing under that tentative, loving press of lips. 

When Patton pulled away, his eyes were sparkling. But they weren't gems this time; not really - they were stars, and they gleamed with a light of their own. "Thank you, Logan," he whispered, "for telling me all that, for taking care of me and being there." 

He supposed he could've devised a hundred things to say - perhaps repeated it back to him, for all the times he had done the same; for all the times he had listened to his passionate spiels about science and astronomy when no one else had, for staying up just to ensure he slept and ate. He could've poured out his heart right there and then, maybe even repeated the gesture had he the gall. But he'd never been one for emotions; had never been the best at them. So he did what he always did - what he'd been _taught_ to do - when two things simply did not agree: compromise.

"Someone has to." 

For him, he supposed, it was as much an _I love you_ as any.


End file.
